


I couldn't seem to die

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton: Not so human disaster, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, NaNoWriMo, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Vampire!Alexander, ambiguous ending, and keeps misinterpreting the symptoms, but he doesn't know, though you can read it as Hamilton/Laurens if you squint, what is this 'sleep' you speak of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: John Laurens was aware that for Alexander Hamilton, concepts like food and sleep were optional, fulfilled only if he was reminded by someone, or if his body started shutting down completely. It wasn't a healthy lifestyle, but all of their friends' attempts to persuade Alexander to live differently had been forcefully rejected.

  When Alexander stopped going outside altogether, though, John started to worry.
Or, the one where Alexander doesn't realize that he has been turned into a vampire.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://thebibliosphere.tumblr.com/post/149721910346/sup3rwholock3d-iprayforangels) prompt.
> 
> I actually had two versions of this, one Lams and one gen. In the end, the gen version was more satisfying, so that's what I went with. Still, you could read it as Lams if you feel like it.
> 
> About the suicidal thoughts warning… well, they're not suicidal, but they're close enough to warrant the warning. If I had to tag it as some mental condition, it would be schizoid personality disorder kind of feelings.

John Laurens was aware that for Alexander Hamilton, concepts like food and sleep were optional, fulfilled only if he was reminded by someone, or if his body started shutting down completely. It wasn't a healthy lifestyle, but all of their friends' attempts to persuade Alexander to live differently had been forcefully rejected.

When Alexander stopped going outside altogether, though, John started to worry.

As an independent writer, Alexander could theoretically earn a living without leaving his apartment, and he took full advantage of that by pouring his thoughts onto paper non-stop. For all of Alexander's remarkable proficiency with advanced technology, he still preferred to write his books by hand – a trait that frustrated his editors to no end. His apartment could be, and usually was, strewn with dozens if not hundreds of pages lying on precarious piles all around the place. To minimalize the time he had to spend with Alexander, his editor James Madison would drop by once a week to pick up the papers. (And if he also got the chance to meet Alexander's neighbour and self-proclaimed nemesis, Thomas Jefferson, well, nobody had to know that.)

As a result of this convenient arrangement, Alexander would rarely go out and socialize when he was working on a book, which was almost always. Still, a month ago, Alexander could be convinced to at least attend the weekly book club meetings, if only to complain about the author's lack of imagination and 'horrendous writing style that could be replicated by a moderately intelligent monkey' (Alexander's literal words).

But lately, Alexander has been cooped up, focused on his most recent novel. When John came by his place, he noted the lack of the trademark empty coffee cups usually littering the place. Alexander was frowning at his writing, the pen poised and ready to write whatever Alexander deemed an acceptable continuation.

“Alex.”

“Hi, John,” Alexander muttered succintly without shifting his focus from his work.

“I feel so welcome,” John said sarcastically. “Dude, we missed you at the book club meeting this week. And last week, and the week before that as well. When's the last time you went out?” he asked, hoping to get Alexander's attention.

He succeeded. Alexander looked up from his writing and tilted his head, considering the question. John took stock of Alexander's appearance. His eyes had dark circles around them, his skin was paler than usual from the lack of sunlight – which in itself was an answer to John's question, seeing as how it currently was summer – and his eyes were slightly blood-shot. “You know me well though to remember that when I'm in the middle of writing, I'm hardly going to squander my valuable time on social trivialities. What day is it today?” Alexander asked abruptly.

John rolled his eyes in exasperation. When Alexander couldn't even bother to remember the date, it was a sign that he needed a break. “It is Wednesday.”

“The date,” Alexander specified.

“The 26th of October.”

“Then exactly twenty-nine days ago.”

John groaned. “You need a break, Alex.”

“I'm _fine_ ,” Alexander protested. "I am an adult and am able to take care of myself, should the need arise – which it has not, thus rendering your inquiry superfluous."

“No, you are not. Alex, honestly, have you even seen yourself recently?” John gestured in his direction.

“I was a little busy writing to worry about the elegance I present to the world,” Alexander retorted, “though I know I look fabulous no matter what happens.”

John winced and shook his head. “Not in this case.”

“What's wrong with me? Sure I haven't–”

“You have dark rings around your eyes, for starters,” John began. “You look like shit. Do you want me to go on? No, don't answer that," he forestalled Alexander's response. "When's the last time you slept, anyway?”

Alexander shrugged. “Last week, maybe?” he offered sheepishly. "As I keep repeating, I am far too busy with work to be able to afford to stop and–"

John gawked at this. “Are you seriously telling me that you've been writing non-stop since _last week_?” he demanded.

Alexander shrugged. “I would not put it in such a crudely blunt way, but what you're saying is essentially correct,” he said, as if the phenomena of a person staying up for over one hundred and fifty hours was familiar to him. Who even knew with Alexander fucking Hamilton.

John grabbed the pen Alexander had been holding, and held it out of Alexander's reach when the latter tried to steal it back. “You need to replenish your energy, which means food and sleep.”

“But I'm not tired,” Alexander protested. “Though I am a bit hungry. I suppose you do have a point in that my organism needs to refill its energy reserves, though I will not stoop so low as to sleep,” he warned.

“See?” John replied smugly, deliberately ignoring the second part of Alexander's statement. “What do you want to eat?” he asked, taking out his phone to order take-out.

Alexander opened his mouth to respond, then scrunched up his nose. “I don't know,” he admitted. “I'm definitely hungry for _something_ , but I don't know _what_. Does that even make sense?” he frowned.

John grinned. “I feel you! I had that feeling the other day; it turned out I wanted avocados.”

Alexander snorted. “Well, we can eliminate that,” he shuddered at the thought. "I still recall the first and only time I ate an avocado, though I would rather not remember that particular embarrassment."

Still grinning, John continued: “We can play Guess The Dish later – for now, you just need to eat something so that you don't faint on me,” he added playfully. “How do you feel about pizza?”

Alexander shrugged. “Doesn't matter, really. As I said, I am not sure what I am in the mood for, so I am going to try to eat whatever you order.”

“Okay,” John nodded. “I'm ordering your usual – pepperoni, paprika, garlic, no onions, right?”

“Right,” Alexander confirmed, and John dialed the number to their nearest pizzeria.

“Yes, hello,” he said into the phone. “I would like to order two pizzas – one with pepperoni, paprika, garlic, definitely no onions, and the other with salami, olives, oysters, and salad,” he rattled off Alexander's address, then confirmed the order one last time before hanging up. “The pizza will be here in about ten minutes.”

Alexander shrugged again. He wasn't that keen on eating pizza anyway, and did not really care about when the pizza would arrive.

They passed the time with catching up, as John has been busy with work, and Alexander could spend entire days writing non-stop if he had nobody there to remind him to socialize. Alexander didn't have many stories to tell, having been focused solely on his book, although he regaled John with one about how Jefferson finally got enough of Madison's awkward hovering and asked him out on a date; in contrast, John had at least twenty tales of their most recent escapades, and how Lafayette and Hercules have been banned from a bar last week for 'disrupting the peace', as the manager put it, although John honestly didn't see how it was peaceful before the three of them arrived.

“And then Hercules turns to the owner and says, 'Are you aware that I am a French noble?', and the owner gives him this long look and says that he's the Queen of England,” John chortled.

Alexander grinned. “Did someone enlighten him that Lafayette actually _is_ a French marquis? I would pay to see his face when he finds out.”

John returned the mischievous smile. “Nah, we had to go because he was threatening to call the cops,” he laughed, throwing back his head and exposing his throat.

For some reason, Alexander's eyes were drawn to it. He could see a pulsing artery disappearing into his jaw. Time slowed down. Alexander licked his lips, leaned forward–

The door bell rang, and John snapped up his head to look at the door. The sound knocked Alexander out of the semi-conscious trance, and he too looked at the door. John stood up and answered the door. Alexander could pick out John making small talk with the pizza delivery, paying for the food, then closing the door again.

John appeared in the living room with two boxes of pizza. Normally, Alexander's mouth would water at the mere thought of pizza, let alone smell, but he supposed he simply wasn't hungry today. Maybe his body hasn't caught up with John's idea that yes, it needs energy and deserves food;Alexander hasn't exactly been listening to his body's demands, so it made some twisted kind of sense that his body would give up on asking about energy sources after a while and just go with it.

John peeked in the box on top, then handed it over to Alexander. “Here's your monstrosity. _Bon appétit_.”

Alexander opened his box of pizza and breathed in the smell. For once, it wasn't mouth-watering, but smelled rotten somehow. Maybe the ingredients were past their due date?

“Aren't you going to eat?” John prompted.

Alexander blinked to clear his thoughts, and took a pizza slice. He warily took a bite, and immediately gagged. If the food smelled rotten, it tasted ten times worse. He dropped the pizza slice and all but ran to the bathroom. He made it just in time to vomit the food back into the toilet. Even after the vomiting had stopped, he made quiet retching noises.

John followed him from the living room, and was studying him with a concerned face expression. “What happened?” he asked when Alexander regained the ability to communicate verbally.

“The food was bad,” Alexander explained, now leaning against the toilet seat and letting his head loll backwards.

John disappeared, then returned with Alexander's pizza. He sniffed it. “Doesn't smell bad,” he said.

“Well, it _is_ bad,” Alexander insisted. "Have you ever known me to lie to you?"

“Do you want an honest answer to that question?" John shot back. "Mind if I try?” he gestured to over the pizza.

Alexander waved his hand dismissively. “Go ahead, I'm not going to eat it, especially not now.”

John narrowed his eyes. “You have to eat something, Alex. How about we switch pizzas?” he suggested. “Are you okay with mine? I promise it's not bad.”

Alexander sighed. “Fine. I do reserve the right to refuse to eat this one as well, if it is an equal abomination."

John took a bite out of Alexander's abandoned slice, and hummed in approval. “It's delicious. Well, it's got paprika, so that's obviously bad, but it's definitely not rotten.”

“Maybe I'm just allergic or something,” Alexander furrowed his brows, “but that would be weird, because this pizza has never upset my stomach before. Also, I think I would notice sooner that I don't tolerate an ingredient on my pizza.”

“You might be allergic to garlic,” John chortled. “Alexander Hamilton, the vampire.”

“If you don't watch out, I'll come during the night and drink your blood,” Alexander scowled, though without any real heat behind it.

“You do that,” John waved his hand dismissively. “But for now, eat the pizza.”

“And what, get another allergic reaction?” Alexander scoffed. “No, thank you. I haven't scheduled a trip to the hospital for today.”

“Eat my pizza, dumbass, and stop whining.”

They both returned to the living room, and Alexander made a beeline for the salami pizza. He plopped down on the couch and took a bite out of another piece of pizza. He made a face as he swallowed. “Yeah, no. It doesn't taste quite as badly as the other one,” he motioned towards the pepperoni pizza still in John's hand, “but it still tastes like – remember that one time Laf tried to make an egg but ended up boiling it for over an hour?" they both winced at the memory. "Yeah, it tastes like that.”

John threw himself unceremoniously onto the seat next to Alexander and stole the pizza piece from Alexander's hand. “I don't understand you, this is downright mouthwatering,” he commented lightly.

Alexander shrugged again. “I guess I'm just not hungry.”

John rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself. At least you ate _something_.”

He made quick work of the two pizza boxes, somehow managing to eat both simultaneously. Afterwards, they both relaxed on the couch, with John falling into a food coma. Alexander, for his part, did not feel satisfied; he felt a hunger, though he could not figure out for what. He decided to ignore it and find a decent movie on Netflix, before John got hold of the remote and condemned them to yet another rendition of _The Sound of Music_.

Midway through _Star Trek IV_ , John stretched, which caused his throat to become exposed. Alexander's eyes wandered over his body and stopped, fixated, on his throat. There was a very nice vein. How come Alexander had never noticed how beautiful John's veins were? It was _right there_ for Alexander to–

To do what? Alexander's thought process halted. Why was he becoming so fixated on John's throat?It was just a normal neck, he argued with himself. That's exactly what made it attractive, another part of him shot back. He paid no attention to that part of himself and decided to concentrate on the film instead.

John suddenly sniggered, just as the Klingon ship crashed in the ocean. Alexander regarded him, resolutely keeping his eyes on John's face. “What's so funny? You can't tell me you think this scene is _funny_ ,” he sneered.

“It is, but that's not why I'm laughing,” John waved him off. “I just–“ John got out before he outright laughed. Once he calmed down, he continued, “Have you finally developed an allergy to food in general, or are you targeting pizzas for some reason?”

“You are a horrible friend,” Alexander groaned.

* * *

 _To: turtle boy_  
fun fact: they heat up the holy water in church  
I don't understand the purpose of warm holy water  
do they use it against really cold ghosts?  
evil snowmen?

 _From: turtle boy_  
uh?? they?? dont?? heat?? up?? holy water??  
what are u doing in church anyway

 _To: turtle boy  
_ attending halloween mass

 _From: turtle boy_  
ok now I know ur lying  
theres no such thing  
I should know, Ive been dragged into enough of those things

 _To: turtle boy_  
it may or may not be called the mass of the dead or something  
I didn't listen to the priest  
but there are cute bat decorations

 _From: turtle boy  
_ bat decorations r not CUTE

 _To: turtle boy  
_ I wish they had live ones tho

 _From: turtle boy  
_ ok thats it, ur officially banned from church

* * *

John heard cursing coming from his apartment, followed by a loud crash. He rounded the corner of the corridor and was met with a most peculiar sight: Alexander was standing in front of the door to John's apartment, waving his arms around and gesticulating wildly. For some reason, he also insulted everything from the apartment to the very air he was breathing. So far, the neighbours had been ignoring him, though John wasn't sure how long that would last.

“What are you doing?” John asked, amused with his friend's antics.

Alexander scowled. “I'm trying to force this damned thing to work!” he exclaimed angrily. "Yet, for some unfathomable reason, it refuses to cooperate with me!"

John frowned. “What thing?” he asked as he stepped closer to his friend, triggering the motion-controlled lights as he did so. “The door?”

Alexander pointed in his vague direction. “ _That_.”

“The lights?” John blinked, unsure of how to respond to that.

“Yes, the bloody lights!” Alexander burst out. “The motion detector wouldn't react to me,” he elaborated when John looked at him askance.

John blinked. “How does the motion detector not detect you?” he asked incredulously.

Alexander spat out another volley of unintelligible curses. “It used to work,” he pouted.

John bit his lip. “Maybe it's broken,” he offered, but Alexander swiftly shot that argument down by pointing out that it had reacted to John just fine. John shrugged. “The camera is obviously prejudiced against you,” he decided at last, unlocking his door and stepping inside. Alexander remained outside, staring at the doorway thoughtfully. “Well, are you waiting for an invitation?” John retorted sarcastically.

Alexander flipped him off. “It's called being polite. You should try it sometime.”

John snorted. “That's rich, considering you just gave me the finger,” he began the arduous work of ridding himself of his outerwear.

“Well?” Alexander put his hands on his hips, somehow pulling off the dramatic diva look even in sweatpants. “Aren't you going to invite me in?”

John rolled his eyes. “Come in, then,” he hung his leather jacket on the hook and dropped his keys in a nearly bowl, then set off towards the kitchen.

Shuffling feet behind him told him that Alexander was stalking him. “How can an inanimate object go about forming their own opinion?” Alexander resumed the discussion.

“Well, do you have a better explanation?” John scoffed.

“No, but anything is better than being judged unworthy of light by a piece of technology. Your phone is ringing, by the way,” Alexander added flippantly.

“What– how–“ John patted his jeans pockets in search of his mobile. He finally found it and cast a glance at the display.

_The Frenchiest Fry calling…_

“Yo, what's up?”

“Unless the Earth has undergone drastic geological changes during the last hour, the sky,” Lafayette was fluent in snark as well as in French and English. “Hello, John.”

“'Lo, Lafayette. Good to hear your voice. Is this a social call?” John asked curiously.

“You could see it as a reminder of a social call. Remind _mon petit lion_ that he promised to sing on the next karaoke night.”

“Really? He said that? Hmmm,” John turned to look speculatively at Alexander, who was raiding John's alcohol cabinet in search of– _and_ he found the vodka. He collected two glasses from the sink and poured them both generous drinks, then clinked the glasses, downed his drink in one swallow, then followed that up with the second drink. He refilled the glasses. “Interesting. Sure, I'll remind him.”

“Thank you, _mon ami,_ ” Even over phone, Lafayette's smile was practically tangible. “I will see you tomorrow.”

By the time John wrapped up the call, Alexander had finished off two more drinks and was pouring more. John grabbed one glass before Alexander could finish it. “Slow down, Alex,” he cautioned, “you don't want to drink yourself to death,” he lifted his glass to drink the vodka.

“Lately, I feel like that's debatable,” Alexander muttered under his breath, but John heard it anyway. He put down the glass again, and turned to stare at Alexander.

“I'm going to ask you a question, and I would like for you to answer it truthfully, Alex: are you suicidal?” John inquired solemnly.

To his credit, Alexander actually took a moment to consider the question before shaking his head. “No, it's not that. I have just been feeling like I'm different somehow, and I don't always recognize myself,” he answered honestly. “It is not a nice feeling.”

John let out a relieved breath he wasn't aware that he had been holding. “I know it sounds cliché, but that feeling will disappear with time. Nothing is worth taking your own life,” he advised.

“I know,” Alexander reassured him. “You don't need to worry about that. I simply need time to readjust to my new… me,” he finished awkwardly. “You know what I mean.”

John laughed. “Speaking of the new you, how did you hear my phone? It was on silent mode.”

“I've always had good hearing,” Alexander shrugged, unconcerned. He took another sip of the vodka.

John followed suit. “Yeah, but not good enough to hear something that isn't meant to make any noise.”

Alexander wrinkled his nose. “It wasn't exactly _noise_ in the way you think about it, but it was definitely vibrations in the air,” he commented. “Wasn't the hardest thing to pick up.”

John snorted. “Show-off,” he said good-naturedly before clinking his glass against Alexander's and downing his drink in one go.

At around round twelve (though it may just as well have been round seventeen, John lost count somewhere around six), Alexander sagged against the couch and contemplated the glass in his hand. “John,” he said. “ _John_. I'm not drunk yet.”

“Bullshit,” John scoffed. “You drank almost two bottles on your very own. Like, with no help. Nobody has that kind of entur– ender– andur– goddamn it, _stamina,_ ” he hissed in frustration, his words slurring slightly.

“Yes, _that's the point_!” Alexander emphasized, stabbing the couch with his finger. "I should be drunk, yet I am decidedly sober. I need to have a few more drinks – or, failing to remedy my lack of inebriation, discover why I don't seem to become intoxicated.

John winced and mentally sent his sympathies to the couch for being mistreated, then repeated the condolences verbally, just in case the sofa needed the additional support. He frowned and asked himself why he was talking to the couch when it was an inanimate object. He might also have said that last one out loud, because Alexander smiled that adorable half-grin of his that John just couldn't resist. He reciprocated the smile.

“I might have been bitten by a radioactive spider,” Alexander returned to the subject at hand.

“More like an alcoholic spider with super-hearing,” John embellished. “That would be _wicked_.”

“And a pizza aversion,” Alexander added with a laugh.

“That too.”

The silence that followed was pleasant. It was oddly intimate without being intrusive. Alexander allowed himself to rest, focusing on the sound of John's breath that evened out as he slowly fell asleep.

* * *

 _To: turtle boy_  
can a mirror like  
stop working or something  
?

 _From: turtle boy_  
wtf alex  
how much have u been drinking  
mirrors dont just STOP WORKING

 _To: turtle boy_  
mine did  
and I haven't drunk anything since karaoke night

 _From: turtle boy_  
yeah right  
im coming over

 _To: turtle boy_  
please do  
actually, don't  
stay away from my apartment

 _From: turtle boy  
_ what did u do

 _To: turtle boy_  
nothing, I swear  
it's just  
you have a very nice throat

 _From: turtle boy_  
that was random but ok  
now im seriously concerned  
ill be there in ten

* * *

“So where's the broken mirror?” John joked after Alexander opened the door.

Alexander did not answer, which did little to calm John's nerves. He took Alexander's head in his hands and checked his eyes and his temperature. He recoiled as if burnt. “Woah, Alex, you're freezing!” he exclaimed.

Alexander had, in the meantime, set his eyes on John's throat. He leaned down abruptly to smell John. John stayed perfectly still. “Alex, what are you doing?” he asked warily. Alex hummed in response, then licked John's exposed throat.

John jumped back, letting out a startled yell. “What the–“

But Alexander was quicker, pinning him against the wall with strength far surpassing any human capacities. He pressed his body fully against John and deftly locked John's wrists over John's head, thus ensuring that he would remain still, then leaned down over John's throat again. He sniffed the skin, then lowered his lips and pressed his open mouth to John's throat.

John felt two sharp objects, like needles, sink into his skin. There was a sucking sensation, as if someone tried to empty his energy reservoir, and he felt light-headed. His head rolled back, coincidentally exposing more of his throat. Alexander ran his fingers along the newly bared skin, and John shivered, though he couldn't tell whether that was because of Alexander's cold fingers or… something else.

As abruptly as it had began, it ended. Alexander withdrew his canines, because that was what those objects had to be, from John's throat. He licked his bloody lips, savouring the taste left behind. The two stared at each other, John with blood still dripping from his throat and struggling to form coherent thoughts, and Alexander with John's blood on his lips.

“So,” Alexander began, then stopped. How did one go about explaining this? By all logic, it should be impossible – and yet here he was.

“So,” John parroted.

Alexander let out a breath. “John, I think I'm a vampire.”

“You don't say,” John deadpanned, aware of the absurd situation that would fit right into a young adult romance novel but had somehow become his life. “I would never figure that out, what with you sucking out my blood.”

“It tasted more extravagantly than any food I had ever consumed,” Alexander started gushing. “Like sweet birdsong during dawn, like warm sunlight during the day, and like the moon at night.”

“So annoying, scathing, and dim?” John attempted to crack a joke, but it felt hollow even to him.

He became aware that Alexander once again started to focus on his flowing blood. He changed the subject in hopes of regaining Alexander's attention. “Is this why you didn't want me here?”

Alexander nodded, though he didn't take his eyes off of the two puncture marks. “I seem to have developed a fascination with your throat,” he murmured.

John suddenly knew what he had to do. “You are still hungry, aren't you?” Alexander nodded again. “Go ahead, then,” he gestured to his throat. He didn't trust himself to elaborate, afraid that he would withdraw his offer if given the opportunity, when it was clear that his friend needed help.

That was all the invitation Alexander needed. Without further ado, Alexander bit down on John's throat and started drinking. Once again, John felt dizzy, but this time, Alexander was more careful, steadying him when he swayed.

If John would be pressed to describe the following moments, he would be at a loss for words. Time slowed down, or maybe it sped up – John honestly couldn't tell. To him, it felt like only a second has passed, but had probably been a few minutes. At some point, Alexander withdrew his canines from John's throat and gently licked the wounds to stem the blood flow. His saliva had the unexpected effect of healing the wounds. He then disentangled himself from John, taking a step back as John regained his bearings.

“Sorry if I took too much,” Alexander apologized, this time licking the blood off his lips entirely. “How are you feeling?” he inquired politely.

John let out a laugh; it wasn't completely hollow, but very close to it. “How am I feeling? I just found out my best friend is a vampire – which, until five minutes ago, I considered a creature belonging in fairy tales. How do you think I'm feeling?” he said bitterly.

Alexander scratched his neck, looked up, caught John's glare, then turned to stare at the floor. “I really can't express my regret enough, dear Laurens, for taking advantage of you. I don't care what excuse I might be able to construct, I will not shy away from my misconduct,” he concluded, then, uncharacteristically, fell silent, as if waiting for John's response.

John bit his lip as he considered his next words. On one hand, he did feel more than a little shocked and violated at this precipitous turn his life had taken; on the other hand, if John was this strongly affected, keeping in mind that he was not even the one with the true problem… Well. John couldn't begin to imagine how Alexander must feel right now. “Sorry. That was shitty of me. Here I am, worrying about myself, when you are the one who has undergone the monumental change. No, seriously, I was a complete jerk, don't try to defend me,” he held up a hand to forestall Alexander when he opened his mouth to refute John's words. “I should have considered your emotions, and I did not, and that makes me a horrible friend.”

“It does not,” Alexander retorted.

John rolled his eyes. “ _Sweet baby Jesus_ , do you have a compulsive need to argue about everything? Shit. Sorry about that. Again,” he took a deep breath, then let it out. “How did this happen, anyway?” he inquired, making an encompassing gesture towards Alexander.

Alexander kneaded the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I don't know,” he said, moving to the couch on autopilot and all but collapsing gracelessly onto it. Elegance apparently wasn't included in the 'undead servant of the dark' package. Alexander absentmindedly wondered if he could get a refund. He doubted it.

Suddenly John laughed. “Remember the motion detector lights thing?” he reminisced. “In my kitchen? I guess we finally know why they wouldn't react to you.”

Alexander started to smile. “And the mirror. It wasn't broken.”

“And your newfound distaste for pizza,” John snickered, Alexander joining in. For a few minutes, the silence was peaceful.

Alexander's body suddenly felt as heavy as lead and as useful as a brick, and his head swam with chaotic thoughts as the full realization of what has been happening started to sink in. His eyes blurred, sliding in and out of focus.

 _I am a vampire,_ Alexander realized with a jolt. He repeated it again in his mind, but it sounded just as absurd as the first time he thought it, so he said it out loud. “I'm a fucking vampire,” he said bitterly.

John moved to sit in the armchair in front of Alexander. “Yeah, you are,” he replied softly, precluding Alexander from the possibility of denial.

“This is my existence now,” Alexander choked out, “stealing blood to survive, never again seeing the sun, stuck like this for eternity without any chance of an afterlife.” When had he started shaking? Was this a normal response? Could vampires even cry?

Since no tears followed his mental breakdown, the answer to the last question was a resounding _no_.

John watched Alexander for a moment, then hesitatingly moved over to the couch and wrapped his arms around his friend. Alexander's response was to wind himself around John like a drowning man clutching his last lifeline. “John, what am I going to do?” his voice cracked on the last word.

John didn't release Alexander's trembling body. “I don't know, but we are going to get through this. Day by day. Or night by night, as the case may be,” he added in a soothing voice.

They stayed like that, until Alexander's tremors subsided slightly. John gently guided Alexander towards his bedroom, though he knew it to be futile – Alexander no longer needed sleep, after all. Still, the familiarity of a bed had the potential to alleviate Alexander's anxiety.

They both lay awake that night, each lost in their own thoughts.

Alexander stirred into action by birdsong, which foretokened the sunrise. He got up to close the blinds, then, on second thoughts, came to the decision to leave while he still could. He hasn't tested whether his newly transformed body could withstand sunlight, and he did not feel eager to run that particular experiment, especially while he was still sluggish from the melodramatic evening the day before. He tiptoed to the door, careful not to wake John, who had fallen asleep an hour ago, and whom Alexander had spent said hour contemplating.

John's lethargic voice stopped him before he could make a break for it. “Don't leave, Alex. Please.”

“You'll be better of without me,” Alexander spoke softly, hoping that the response would be enough to persuade John to drop the subject.

It had the opposite effect: John roused from sleep completely, and stared at Alexander with a hard glare. “Don't you dare say that. You're the closest friend I've got. I can't lose you. Come back to bed.”

“John–“

“Alexander,” It was the use of his full name, rather than the acrimonious tone in which it was said, that got Alexander's attention. “Don't do this. Stay for as long as you want and need, but don't leave me because you think that it will be best for me. Only one person gets to decide that, and it's not you.”

For once, Alexander didn't argue. He returned to the cold spot by John's side. John wrapped his arm around Alexander's waist and drew him closer. “I'm tired of empty beds, Alex,” he whispered.

Alexander kissed John's forehead in reassurance. “Go back to sleep, John. I promise I'll be here when you awaken.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> On an aside, if you ever want to buy Polish chocolate, go with Milka and not Wedel. Just a word of advice.


End file.
